


Sicken

by GRINtelligencer



Category: Pandora Hearts
Genre: AU, Blood, Chains have a price, Consequences, Gen, Sickness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 21:38:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GRINtelligencer/pseuds/GRINtelligencer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Using the March Hare has long lasting effects on the body it’s contractor. But Liam had no choice, so he must deal with the aftereffects. Very AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sicken

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while back and it’s been sitting on my computer. At the time I was writing a lot with Break being sick and Break coughing up blood all the time so I wanted to opportunity to have it be Liam for once who was wasn’t okay. Also I wanted to play with the idea that being a contractor, no matter what your Chain is, has a effect on the body. Mostly bad. And I wanted to write some caring Barma since I do think he is very fond of Liam.

It started with a tickle in the back of his throat that refused to go away. Since Liam was currently in a Pandora meeting he did his best to ignore it when simple swallowing did not make it fade. He did not attempt a cough, even though he wasn’t sitting at the main table, he did not want the attention it would draw to his position at the wall.

It progressed to a rattle to his breathing, which made him wince and put a hand to his chest. From where he was standing against the opposite wall Gilbert shot him a concerned look, though no one at the main table noticed. He mouthed, “Are you alright?” across the room, knowing full well that Liam could and would read his lips.

Liam nodded and stepped to the small table to his left, which held several pitchers of water and glasses. He poured some for himself but found halfway though it that it failed to banish the painful tickle at the back of his throat and set it down half finished when he felt his breath catch in his chest. 

Years of experience lurking on the periphery of things and not being noticed let him exit the room unnoticed by anyone but Gilbert, who frowned after him but made no move to follow, much to his relief.

He made it all the way out of the room, and into the back hallway before the urge to cough became unbearable. And he found once he gave in he couldn’t stop the coughs, they came, one after another, barely giving him time to breathe in between. With one hand pressed to his mouth in an attempt to muffle the noise he was making his other went to the wall as the world skewed in a strange direction, like the floor had decided to tilt up.

And then, with absolutely no idea how it had happen he found himself on his knees, still coughing, still desperately trying to catch his breath. The coughs racked him, he felt newly healed ribs and wounds burning in protest but there was nothing he could do.

Then the coughing became choking and his glove was wet --why was his glove wet?

Still coughing he raised his hand and was only a little surprised to see the red blood staining the fabric of his glove. He had been warned, after all, these were the consequences of what he’d done.

Another round of coughing sent his hand back to his mouth, his throat felt raw, all he could taste bitter copper. Was this what Xerxes had endured? Had he panicked as he felt the blood coming up? Had he wondered --irrationally-- how in the world he was going to get all the blood off his face and gloves before someone spotted him?

As he tried to muffle the sounds of his coughing in his hand someone he hadn’t noticed approaching thrust a handkerchief into his hand, another, wetted handkerchief was pressed to the back of his neck. The same someone, he couldn’t tell who, murmured what must have been meant to be comforting words, Liam couldn’t hear them over his own coughing.

When Liam finally rode out the fit he found it wasn’t followed by another, much to his relief. His lungs burned for air and all he could do for several seconds was just breathe. But every breath came a little easier than the last, until it was no longer a struggle to get enough air.

After a few moments he turned his head tiredly to the person who had found him, lie on the tip of his tongue to see the very last person he’d expected to find kneeling next to him in a back hallway.

Duke Rufus Barma himself was offering him a third handkerchief with a grim expression, his hair as red as the blood dripping from Liam’s palm.

When Liam froze instead of reaching for it the duke sighed, tugged the ruined handkerchief from his hands and replaced it with the clean one. “How many times has this happened since you’ve recovered?”

He’d been officially recovered for at least a month and he actually had to stop and count how many times it had been. “About a half dozen.” his voice was thick with blood still, hoarse from the coughing. Remembering it was now in his hand he used the handkerchief to wipe the blood from his face.

At the count Lord Barma frowned a little. “I see. I had calculated that the damage would be temporary.”

“It seems to be coming with less frequency.” he offered.

With a sigh Lord Barma sat back on his heels, brushing some of his hair back. “This was why I had warned against the use of March Hare.”

“I know, sir.” he replied, but without spite. He’d been fully informed of the risks of using Hare when he had contracted with the Chain. Not just the danger of bleeding to death but what the Chain’s power did to the body of it’s contractor. Organs slowed to the point of seeming dead did not always recover well.

“I will give you a few months leave.” Lord Barma said suddenly. “Go to the country, the seaside, somewhere with cleaner air. It would, no doubt, help you recover faster.”

He sighed and reached back to take the damp handkerchief from the back of his neck. “With all due respect, sir, I would rather not leave. There are many matters here that require my attention.”

“You are not going back into the field.” Lord Barma’s voice had the tone to it that said that this was not something he would allow argument on.

“I did not plan to.” he admitted. “But someone needs to keep things in check here.”

“There are plenty of…” Lord Barma began but he left the sentence trail off as he remembered that most of those who they employed as desk workers and secretaries reported to Liam. That Liam had been on leave for some time after his injury had made the paperwork situation quite a mess it was true, without him it was only likely to get worse.

“And there is research to do.” Liam pointed. He cleared his throat so his voice was less thick when he spoke again. “There’s work for me to do here, sir. Important work that I don’t want to abandon.”

Lord Barma sighed and rose, brushing the folds out of his robes. “I see. Well, if you are content with the way things stand, then so be it.” he glanced to the side and frowned. “I must return to the meeting. If you intend to also do so clean up first.”

Liam glanced down as his bloodstained gloves and his cravat, which would never be the same. “Of course, sir.” then he realized that he still had two of Lord Barma’s handkerchief’s in his hands, one quite covered in blood. “Um…”

“Throw them away.” he said, noticing what he was holding up, and when Liam opened his mouth to protest the waste he interrupted with, “I am a duke, I have more than I will ever use.” And with that he turned on his heel to go back to the meeting.

It took Liam a few tries to make it all the way back to his feet, for some reason his knees felt weak and kept threatening to fold again. Though they were coming farther and father apart these coughing fits always too a lot out of him.

“There you are.”

The voice made him glance up to see the Gilbert had appeared at the end of the hall, he was heading toward him with a concerned look on his face. “Lord Barma told me you were ill.”

That made Liam blink, even as he hurriedly turned his hand over so the bloody palm was hidden, “He did?”

“When he came back to the meeting.” Gilbert explained. “He muttered it to me as he passed and-- why are you covered in _blood_?”

It seemed he’d gotten close enough to see that the red spotting cravat wasn’t a pattern but blood. With a sigh Liam said, “It’s complicated.”

“It’s something to do with your Chain, isn’t it?” asked Gilbert without even a moment’s pause. “Like how Break coughs blood when he’s used his too much or I have to pass out for a little after I use Raven.”

“Why would you say that?” Liam said, he pushed off from the wall he’d been leaning against.

“Because you’ve never used your Chain before the party and from the sound of it you only used to then because you had to.” Gilbert replied. “So I figured there might be something like this.”

“There was never a need to use Hare before.” he said, as if that instead was the excuse.

Gilbert nodded but went on, “Break coughs blood because his body can’t take the strain but… you’ve always been healthy _and_ you’re younger than he is. So why are you sick?”

If he wasn’t feeling so tired he would have made a plausible story, told him something that wasn’t the truth but sounded close enough but… at the moment he just didn’t feel like it. So he instead said, “Because my Chain slows down all my internal organs to make me appear to be dead. Sometimes… there have been cases in the past where people have had them not all go back normal afterward.” There were even records of a contractor of the Hare who had lost all feeling in his legs when the nerves there refused to awaken.

The horrified look on Gilbert’s face made him immediately wish he had thought up something else. “So you’re… dying?”

“No.” Liam said at once. “It’s not nearly that bad.” He was sure of that. The coughing was getting less and less frequent, after all. “I’m just ill.”

But Gilbert had obviously heard this before, his eyes narrowed. “‘Ill’ like Break is ‘ill’?”

“It’s not that bad.” he repeated. “I’ll be better soon.” He wished it didn’t sound so much like he was trying to assure himself of this as much as Gilbert.

“I suppose you would know.” Gilbert admitted finally, though he still looked suspicious. Since Gilbert had spent a lot of time around Xerxes Break --who would claim to be fine up to the point that he passed out-- Liam really didn’t blame him. “Are you going back to the meeting?”

He considered it, truly there wasn’t much he was there for, he’d already given his report. “No.” he said. “I’d rather change into clean clothes.”

Offering an arm and a smile Gilbert said, “I’ll help you get there.

Liam held up a hand, protesting, “I’m really not that bad off.” When he heard Gilbert draw in a sharp breathe he realized he’d used his bloodstained hand and quickly curled his fingers into his palm. “I’ll be alright.”

“Then I’ll just walk with you. To make sure.” he said.

“Won’t your master need you?” Liam tried.

But Gilbert shook his head. “He’s having tea with Lady Sharon and the Rabbit, they won’t be done for a while. I can walk you to your room in the meantime.”

Something about the determined look of his face said he wouldn’t be persuaded out of this mission. Mentally cursing Lord Barma for setting a determined worrywart on him Liam said, “Very well.” and made his way back to his rooms with Gilbert alongside, darting his anxious looks at him the whole time.

If he wasn’t fairly sure this was some sort of karmic revenge for the pestering he inflicted Break with Liam would have been more annoyed, as it was, he was just glad that Gilbert left him at his rooms once he assured him he was going to get some rest. And, surprisingly enough, Liam found that once he had put on clean clothes and located new gloves he actually was tired. He fell onto his bed with a sigh, not caring that there was work to do or a meeting he was missing. Just now he would sleep, and later, he would wake feeling better.

 

* * *

 

End.


End file.
